


In Coming to Understand Another

by Stealth_Noodle



Category: Persona 3
Genre: Awkward Crush, Bittersweet, Cunnilingus, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, Fingering, First Time, Mid-Canon, Riding in Canon's Sidecar, Wordcount: 10.000-30.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-01
Updated: 2013-11-01
Packaged: 2017-12-31 05:19:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1027692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stealth_Noodle/pseuds/Stealth_Noodle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yukari is drawn to Mitsuru by a shifting mix of antipathy, empathy, camaraderie, and attraction. What's between them may never be easy, and it certainly isn't simple, but it's always central. (Or, how two guarded hearts chafed until they wore each other down.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Coming to Understand Another

**Author's Note:**

  * For [xenoglossy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xenoglossy/gifts).



> I didn't _intend_ for this to turn out so ridiculously long, but your letter made you sound a bit like my P3 brain twin, and apparently I have a lot to say about this ship. Hope you enjoy! :)

The last time Yukari checked her phone, it was a quarter till midnight. She's going to get in trouble for violating curfew, but she can't force herself to care. All that matters is her father's letter, which she's already memorized—a good thing, because somewhere between the tears that keep building up in her eyes and the dimness of the streetlights and the four years she's wasted in Port Island, she can't focus on the text anymore. All that matters is that she's here, at the edge of the bridge, and she's been getting it all wrong.

_Are you remembering to enjoy life? Are you still bright-eyed and hopeful, like you are now?_

Traffic roars steadily at her back. Maybe she should be worried that someone will mistake her for a jumper, but she can't care about that right now, either. Anyone should be able to tell by looking at her that she's not giving up. _I hope this letter brings a smile to your face,_ he wrote ten years ago, so she bites her lip until she forces it to curve upward.

The streetlights die.

Yukari's nape prickles as if someone just breathed on it. Her heart races, and her pulse throbs loud inside her head; it takes her a moment to realize that the rest of the world is eerily silent. When she turns, she sees cars frozen in place on the bridge, their headlights black.

"H-hello?" she calls, and hates that she stutters. Her tongue feels like lead. "Is anyone there?"

No sign of movement on the bridge, or over the water, or above. The moon looks sick and swollen, washing the world with a green tint that makes her queasy. When she glances down, a liquid that looks a lot like blood trickles around her shoe.

Terrified as she is, a small part of her thinks, _Finally_. Four years of waiting for any thread to trace back to the Kirijo Group, and now she's deep in a shadow that only they could have cast. Yukari folds her father's letter as carefully as her shaking hands allow and tucks it safely into her shirt. She tries to call out again, but her voice has dwindled to a dry creak.

She wants to collapse. Instead she staggers toward one of the frozen cars. Her heartbeat is a high-pitched thrum; her breaths are sharp and shallow. By the putrid light of the moon, she peers through the window and finds a coffin where the driver should be.

If she could, she'd scream. All she can manage is a loud, broken breath as she sinks to her knees.

Something gurgles behind her.

Part of the darkness has turned solid at the edge of the bridge, curling over the concrete like long, gnarled fingers. A thick blackness heaves itself over the edge. Yukari half-expects it to splatter like tar, but it remains solid. Though it has no discernible features, she is dead certain that it's staring at her. Abruptly it skitters toward her. All she can do is shield her face with her trembling arms.

An engine roars. For an instant Yukari is convinced that traffic is going to start again while she's in the middle of it, but it's only one motor, and a small one. There comes a terrible noise, like shattering glass. A woman's voice shouts a word she can't understand, and Yukari lowers her arms in time to see something like a giant robot swing a sword through the solid darkness. The shadow splits open and dissipates like smoke. The robot vanishes.

High-heeled boots click against the pavement as an older, sophisticated-looking girl approaches, a motorcycle helmet tucked under one arm and what looks like a gun holstered on her hip. Her hair obscures one eye, but the other fixes Yukari with an appraising gaze. "Don't worry," she says. "It's normal to experience disorientation and fatigue during the Dark Hour. It takes time to adapt."

The girl extends her hand, and Yukari stares at it.

"I'm Mitsuru Kirijo," the girl adds.

Yukari's breath hitches. Context is a funny thing; by daylight, without dizzying fear, she would have recognized the Group's heir right away, even though they've never done more than pass each other in the school hallways. Years of waiting for the slightest glimpse behind the Kirijo curtain, and suddenly it flutters open right in front of her.

After a couple of false starts, she uses the car to pull herself to her feet. Mitsuru watches with a faintly concerned frown. Her surname might not mean anything to a Kirijo who must have been a child when the incident occurred, but Yukari puts emphasis on it as she replies, "I'm Yukari Takeba. What the heck is going on?"

Mitsuru's hand falls back to her side. "I'm sure you have many questions, but it isn't safe to remain here. Come with me and I'll explain everything."

If this is a trap, Yukari will walk into it willingly; the only other option is to turn her back on her father. She meets Mitsuru's gaze without blinking. "So let's go, already."

She clings stiffly to Mitsuru on the back of the motorcycle, which she's almost certain wasn't built for two. The wind stings her eyes. The tires spatter creeping rivulets of blood. When she twists to look behind, she sees an impossibly tall, twisted structure rising from somewhere beyond the other side of the bridge. There's something grotesquely organic about it, like the city has raised a rotting arm to claw at the moon.

Yukari shivers and swallows her nausea. She will do, she tells herself, whatever she has to do.

* * *

_Why is she always like that...?_

* * *

For days after moving into the dorm, Yukari hunts for clues. She creeps upstairs at night, barefoot, to rifle through files in the command room. When she's the only one home, she prods the walls and floors in search of secret storage rooms. By the end of her first week, she's ready to admit that the Kirijo Group probably wouldn't stash classified information about decade-old disasters in its special dormitory. 

Instead she watches Mitsuru like a camera.

It's easy to keep track of Mitsuru when they're the only occupants of the entire floor. She learns the rhythm of Mitsuru's footsteps, which have a distinct clipped precision even when she isn't wearing heels. It's trivial to tell whether Mitsuru is on the move or Akihiko is coming up to visit. Mitsuru is often gone during the evenings, and at school they see little of each other, but Yukari sees enough of Mitsuru's expressions, small and guarded as they are, to make any poker victory a foregone conclusion.

Of course, they don't play poker. Yukari feels simultaneously like an intruder and a lab specimen; she doesn't fit in with these seniors who seem to have known each other for years, and their efforts to include her are almost painfully awkward. If she were a shyer person, she'd find their attention suffocating. The worst is when they patrol the streets together during the Dark Hour, Evokers drawn, and Yukari feels like a dumb kid tagging along with soldiers.

"Don't think about it too much," Akihiko advises her. "That's how I did it."

Pointing a gun at her own head makes Yukari's thoughts race, and her brain moves a lot faster than her finger. "Sorry, Senpai, but I don't think that's gonna work for me."

"What's so hard about _not_ thinking?"

Mitsuru hushes them and stalks across the bleeding street toward a thick patch of darkness. It turns out to be only the normal sort of shadow; light during the Dark Hour behaves as if it wandered in from a Cubist painting. After sweeping her gaze up and down the street, Mitsuko lowers her Evoker.

"When you're desperate enough, Takeba," she says, "you'll be able. We never truly know what we're capable of until we're pushed to our limits."

This is starting to feel like a weird version of eighth-grade gym class, in which Yukari plays the role of the only girl who still hasn't gotten her period. Instead of insisting that she can do it anytime she wants, Yukari asks, "Is that how it was for you, Mitsuru-senpai?"

A sudden stiffness in the shoulders, a briefly averted gaze: Mitsuru is hiding something. Without answering, she resumes walking.

"She doesn't like to talk about it," Akihiko says. "Anyway, just keep training. You'll get it."

Yukari wonders what the eight-grade boys' gym class was like.

When the world comes back to life and they all return to the dorm, Yukari is exhausted, even though she's done nothing but clutch her bow and follow. It's weird, having to account for a whole extra hour each day.

Before she met Mitsuru, she can remember occasionally staying up late to study and being annoyed when her laptop powered down. She can't remember much else about those nights, just irritation and exhaustion, mingled with a deep, inexplicable dread. She probably just passed out. She might have cried, sometimes. All she's certain of is that she used to get a lot more sleep.

Tonight she can't seem to drift off, no matter how badly her body wants to. When her alarm clock tells her it's after one, she rolls out of bed, takes her Evoker from the bedside drawer, and sits in the corner of her room with her legs folded beneath her. To the count of ten, she breathes as deeply and steadily as she can. 

She tries not to think, but she ends up thinking about her father, and her vision blurs. She thinks about Mitsuru pulling the trigger without the slightest tremor of hesitation, and she gets angry. Anger isn't enough to get her past the fact that she's putting a gun to her head.

"No chickening out," she tells herself. She remembers Mitsuru's icy calm and the sound of shattering glass, imagines it amplified a thousandfold inside her own skull. Her palms sweat so badly that she can pretend the Evoker slips when she tosses it away.

Yukari huddles for a while, hugging her knees to her chest, before taking a deep breath and picking up the Evoker again.

* * *

_I can summon mine... No problem..._

* * *

"She'll be all right," Mitsuru says, with what sounds like an attempt at gentleness. "The doctor says she wasn't harmed in any way. She merely pushed herself to the point of exhaustion."

Because when the moment came, Yukari froze. Again. Let her fear paralyze her, let her Evoker fall. Whereas Minako, who had no idea what was happening and no assurance that she wasn't about to blow her own brains out, had picked it up and fired. _Merely_.

Yukari doesn't look up from the hospital bed. "Someone should be here when she wakes up."

Mitsuru sighs lightly. "Suit yourself. I'll arrange for your homework to be delivered."

"Um, thanks."

With no further acknowledgment, Mitsuru leaves, pulling the door shut behind her. The clacking of her heels fades down the hallway.

Minako deserves to know everything that's been hidden from her, every secret that's been whispered over her head. Yukari owes her that much, at least. If Mitsuru got her way, Minako would probably never hear anything but the bare minimum of information necessary to fight. As badly as Yukari wants someone in SEES who isn't tangled up with the Kirijo Group, she's going to make damn sure that Minako joins only if she's fully aware and willing.

"Hey," Yukari says, as if she's starting an actual conversation, "we should hang out when you wake up. I mean, if you want to. I think we've got a lot in common."

The heart monitor beeps steadily. Minako's eyelids twitch, which probably means she's dreaming. Dreaming looks creepy from the outside.

"I moved away from Port Island, too, after my dad died. It must suck that everyone here already knows about your parents. I don't really talk about my dad, because it makes people act so weird. I can't stand having people feel sorry for me." Yukari folds her hands in her lap. "I bet you get it worse, though, huh? Maybe we could complain to each other."

Minako doesn't seem like much of a complainer, though. She didn't even freak out when Yukari banged on her door in the middle of the night and shoved a weapon at her. If she can keep her cool in a crisis and shoot herself in the head without flinching, maybe she's less like Yukari and more like Mitsuru with social skills.

The thought makes Yukari scowl. "On the second thought, let's just have fun together when you wake up, okay? We can fight Shadows and then go to the mall or something. Your first victory cocoa at Chagall is on me!"

There's nothing to it, Yukari tells herself. All of this must be fate, so what's the point in being afraid of it? If her senpai can do this as easy as breathing, and Minako can do it with a giant Shadow bearing down on her in a flurry of swords...

She draws the Evoker from the holster on her thigh and presses the barrel against her forehead. Eyes squeezed shut, breathing hard, she pulls the trigger.

Her head turns inside-out. Glass shatters and shatters and shatters in overlapping echoes, building to a layered screech. Adrenaline surges in her veins, then suddenly falls flat; time hitches on an instant of crystallized calm. The torrential downpour of her pulse slows to a drip of pitch. A great comfort descends on her restless heart: that she is the captive of no one but herself, that she will someday rest easy in her own skin.

As her pulse races back into sync with the rest of the world, she opens her eyes and sees an enormous metal cow's head floating in the center of the room, with an ebony-skinned girl sitting where its brain ought to be, her wrists chained to its horns. Yukari sees herself in all of it, heifer and maiden and bonds. The air stirs between them. "Io" comes tripping off her tongue from who-knows-what part of her brain, somewhere deeper and truer than thought.

In the shallower world above, the beeping of Minako's heart monitor finally registers. If a nurse walked in now—Yukari doesn't even finish the thought before her Persona obligingly vanishes, leaving her weak, shaken, triumphant.

* * *

_It's not that I don't like her... She's just..._

* * *

For months now Yukari has watched and waited, hoping for a breakthrough. She's hesitant to ask anyone for help, even as the ranks of SEES swell with people she could; this is her problem, and she didn't come back to Port Island looking for someone else to solve it. So she watches Mitsuru and listens to her silences as much as her words. Mitsuru might not lie, but she deftly omits. Mitsuru disguises commands as questions and pretends that she cares about people's wellbeing as much as their usefulness. 

It's not that she's a monster or anything. She's distant and blunt and everything about her gets under Yukari's skin, but she's not the sinister mastermind that Yukari still half-wishes she were. That's not even the point anymore. The Kirijo Group has done its best to hide what happened ten years ago, and it's obvious that Mitsuru Kirijo is hiding _something_. Every time she talks about the Dark Hour, Yukari can tell that there's more left unsaid. Maybe it's a coincidence, but Yukari doesn't really believe in coincidences anymore.

Tartarus appears in place of the school; the Kirijo Group owns the school; ten years ago, Yukari's life turned inside-out, and the school records show a remarkable number of absences. Yukari has the border of this jigsaw puzzle put together, but she's missing all the pieces from the middle.

She tries a few times to feel out Minako on the subject, but Minako never has a bad word to say about anyone. Anything that begins with "Hey, about Mitsuru..." goes straight to "She's really cool, huh? I wish she was less busy so we could hang out more."

Minako has a heart big enough for all of Port Island; she gets along with _Junpei_ , even. Sometimes Yukari feels prickly and petty by comparison. This time, on the monorail to campus, Yukari pushes a little: "Yeah, she's seriously cool, but don't you ever feel like she's kind of pushy?"

This earns a shrug almost expansive enough to send Minako's backpack sliding off her shoulder. "She means well. And that's just how businesspeople are, right? 'You, write me that report! You, get everyone coffee! No one goes home tonight until we win the stock market!'"

"If you ever get a job as an office lady, you're gonna be really disappointed." Yukari smiles and suppresses a sigh. "I guess I'm just a little jealous. I mean, Mitsuru-senpai can do _anything_. It's kind of intimidating."

Minako looks genuinely perplexed. "You're amazing too, though! You saved our butts last night!"

They have to be careful talking about SEES activities in public, but most of the other commuters are wrapped up in their conversations or their phones, and Yukari wants to bask a little. She's getting the hang of standing tall in the eye of a storm and scattering Shadows around her. "Did I look cool? I bet I looked cool."

"If I'd brought a pair of sunglasses, I would have let you wear them all night after that." Minako's eyes gleam. "Say, I've got an idea..."

There's no getting the conversation back to Mitsuru from there, so Yukari lets it go. It's hard enough heading off the kind of idea that would be bound to end with Junpei blindly setting someone on fire.

Minako is out, then. Akihiko is so close to Mitsuru that he's never going to take Yukari's side, which just leaves Junpei and Fuuka. Considering Fuuka was already half-forced into joining SEES, Yukari doesn't want to pressure her in any way; she doesn't seem to be very good at saying no. Junpei is her last choice, but he's also the only one left.

On the next night that both their senpai are out, Yukari sits down at the table opposite Junpei, who's slurping his way through a cup of instant noodles. With anyone else, she'd start with smalltalk; with Junpei, she cuts to, "Hey, about Mitsuru-senpai... Do you ever find it kinda hard to talk to her?"

Junpei's eyes light up. "Oh, man, I thought it was just me!" He leans in to whisper, and it takes only half a sentence before Yukari realizes that she's made a terrible mistake: "It's really hard not to stare at 'em, ya know? I keep tryin' to look at her face, but they're bigger than her face, so—"

"Ugh!" Yukari's arms cross automatically over her chest. "Is that all you ever think about, you perv?"

"Healthy, red-blooded guy here, so, uh, _yeah_." He slurps defiantly. "But it's not like you got anything to worry about."

She dumps the rest of his noodles into his lap.

Ordinarily Yukari would apologize for losing her temper quite so spectacularly, but the soup isn't even that hot, and he should know better than to poke her when she's on edge. Besides, he deserved this one; now she can't even fantasize about getting up in Mitsuru's face without feeling weird about it. She tosses a handkerchief at him and leaves him indignantly mopping his pants.

She feels guilty, but in the end she turns to Fuuka.

* * *

_But now, I need to know. I'm gonna ask you straight out... You've been hiding something from us, haven't you, Senpai?_

* * *

There's something wrong with the mirror, but it doesn't matter, because she's fallen through to the other side and all the world is soft. Heat blooms inside her, deep in her belly and spreading fast. Her limbs slide over silky sheets, slowly, exquisitely. Every sensation floods her; she's nothing but a frame for her nerve endings.

There's something in the air that twines sticky-sweet with her breaths. It doesn't matter; the more she breathes, the deeper she sinks, and the faster her blood flows from her foggy brain to her throbbing flesh. What does it matter how she got here, if here is everything she needs?

There's something wrong, but Mitsuru's hands slide under her shirt, and she doesn't care about anything else. Hot breath washes over her throat. Fingertips fumble with the clasp of her bra, and she fumbles back against layers of fabric. Skin needs skin; she's never needed anything more in her life.

(Something is wrong.)

Lips a whisper away from her lips, breath flowing into her breath. She's going to drown in it, like a sailor in the arms of a mermaid. She came here to drown. She came here to— 

Yukari gasps and scrambles backward. Her lower lip is slick and swollen. Mitsuru is still leaning forward on her knees, mouth open and eyes unfocused, hair in tangled disarray.

"Senpai!" Yukari's voice is almost a shriek. She yanks a sheet up to her chin and rubs the corner furiously against her mouth, hoping it takes off a layer of skin, wishing that so many parts of her weren't flushed and wet. She wants to die. She wants the hotel to explode. She wants new underwear and selective amnesia.

Mitsuru blinks and shakes her head. What must be the reflection of Yukari's own horror spreads over her face. "Takeba, I—"

Fuuka's voice rings urgently in their heads: "Can you hear me? Are you okay?"

Absolutely nothing is okay. Yukari stares at a patch of carpet as she buttons her shirt with trembling hands. "We're fine! Totally fine. Fine. _Nothing happened_."

The awkward silence that follows is cut mercifully short when Mitsuru asks for a status report.

* * *

_It seems like... There's this wall between us._

* * *

Yukari wakes up with a headache after crying herself to sleep, as she hasn't since she was a child. Funny how acting childish has left her feeling older; funny how losing your innocence weighs you down. Part of her wants to lie in bed all day and wallow in gravity.

But the sunlight is bleeding in around the heavy curtains, and the smell of a fancy, Western-style breakfast is wafting under the door. She's been through worse. She'll get through this. 

Her father's letter lies folded on the nightstand, its creases wide and its edges worn soft. Her phone rests nearby, with its faded, fraying strap. Maybe it wouldn't hurt so much to fall if she didn't carry so much with her.

Someone knocks on the door of the guest room. Yukari can't think of anyone she wants to talk to right now, so she pushes the sides of the goose-down pillow over her ears.

"Are you awake?" Mitsuru calls through the door. 

What's the point in pretending otherwise? "...Yeah."

"Yamagishi, Arisato, and I plan to visit this island's famous cryptomeria tree after breakfast. Will you join us?"

She hasn't been fair to Mitsuru. What happened ten years wasn't Mitsuru's fault, and springing accusations on her was cruel, even if there was no way of knowing that they would pick open old wounds. Treating her with suspicion isn't helpful, isn't kind, and isn't even making Yukari feel any better. _Why my father and not hers?_ sticks in her conscience like a pebble in her shoe; it isn't who she wants to be.

Yukari takes a deep breath and sits up. "Sure, count me in. Beats another day at the beach with Junpei acting like a dirty old man."

There's a pause, during which it occurs to her that Mitsuru wasn't present for the worst of his behavior. "Do I need to have another talk with Iori?"

"Nah, it was just Stupei being Stupei. There's no fixing that."

"I see. We'll be waiting for you in the dining room."

And just like that, she starts to walk away, like that's any way to end a conversation. Yukari raises her voice: "So, last night... did you send her after me?"

Mitsuru's footsteps halt. After a silence just long enough to be awkward, she replies, "She would have gone regardless."

"Yeah, I know." Yukari gnaws at her lip. "Just so we're clear, I meant it when I said I don't want your pity."

"I don't pity you."

When Mitsuru lies, she lies by omission; when she can't omit, she shields the truth with silence. Yukari snorts but doesn't offer a rejoinder.

There's no clacking as Mitsuru walks away, so she must not have her boots on. It's always strange to see her dressed casually, and stranger still to see her soft and exposed in a bikini. Seeing her yesterday reminded Yukari of how strange she looked in the love hotel, muddled and hungry in the unearthly light, but Yukari is doing her best never to think about the love hotel again.

The budding warmth in her face dissipates when her feet hit the cold tile floor.

* * *

_I can't just forget about it and move on... I'm not that strong..._

* * *

Mitsuru speaks the most through her silences. For days now, she has been broadcasting loud and clear every time she talks about Ken without saying a word about Shinjiro. Even after the immediate crisis passes and there's no need for her to be everyone's centering strength, she talks only about the boy who came home, not the one who probably never will.

Yukari recognizes this pattern. You wear the public face that makes people think you're stronger than you really are, and then you stuff your fist against your mouth at night so no one can hear you cry. And then maybe one day you make a friend like Minako who lets you blow up a little, and it does more to heal your heart than a decade of self-control.

Minako and Mitsuru are cordial, but not close. Fuuka tends to take Mitsuru at face value. Junpei has the emotional IQ of a howler monkey. Ken's certainly not going to approach Mitsuru with anything resembling a challenge, assuming he even notices the problem in the first place. Maybe Koromaru can tell that there's something wrong, but he's not going to force a reckoning by putting his head in Mitsuru's lap and whimpering at her.

In this case, Yukari doesn't suppose she'll be any more helpful than Koromaru. Akihiko is the only one who's at all likely to get through to Mitsuru, but he isn't home yet, and Yukari isn't convinced he can recognize any emotion more subtle than a punch to the face. 

When he does finally turn up, so late that he probably wasn't expecting anyone else to be in the lounge, Yukari intercepts him to ask, "Are you okay, Senpai?"

"Huh? Yeah, of course." He flexes, as if he assumes she was worried about his running into trouble in the streets, rather than about his heart still being in pieces. "How long ago did Ken get back?"

"A few hours ago. I was really worried about him, but he's tougher than I was giving him credit for." She arches an eyebrow. "So I guess you're the one who found him and sent him back, huh?"

"We just talked. It was his own choice to keep fighting." 

It's a little weird to her that Akihiko is so determined not to treat the ten-year-old like a kid, but as far as she's been able to to tell, he has no idea how to relate to kids. Plotting a revenge killing probably costs you whatever innocence you haven't already blown out of yourself with an Evoker, anyway. So Yukari only nods and says, "Can you talk to Mitsuru-senpai, too?"

He frowns. "What about?"

"You seriously haven't noticed?" When his frown deepens, Yukari sighs. "Look, Minako cried her eyes out. I could hear you punching the crap out of something in your room all night. Heck, _Fuuka_ lost her temper. You three all used to be really close, right? Then how come Junpei's acting more shaken up about this than Mitsuru-senpai?"

Akihiko seems to be having trouble settling on an emotion. He looks a little angry, a little frustrated, a little defensive, a little sad. "If you think she doesn't care about Shinji, I can't even begin to tell you how wrong you are."

"That's not what I meant at all. She's just acting like she has to be the strong one right now, and I'm worried she's bottling everything up."

Anger drains out of the mix; Akihiko's posture softens. "That's just how she is. She's dealing on her own, in her own way."

How she is will never make sense to Yukari. "If you say so, Senpai."

During the Dark Hour she creeps down the hallway to listen at Mitsuru's door, but she can't hear anything at all.

* * *

_I don't really have a reason anymore, if I'm being honest._

* * *

Ten years ago, Yukari didn't believe that her father was dead. There was no flesh to burn, no bones to pick from the ashes. How could anyone say for certain that he hadn't escaped the blast? Who was anyone to say that he wouldn't come home tomorrow? She knew very well that television shows weren't real, but it had to mean something that every character who was thought to have died in an explosion returned a few weeks later, as good as new.

Her father didn't really die until six months later, when Yukari's mother came home late and kissed a strange man good-bye at the front door. Something inside Yukari burst; she sobbed and screamed, "Dad's gonna hate you when he gets home!" The way her mother's face went gray and tight, the way her eyes darkened, the way her body crumpled like her chest had been hollowed out—that was when Yukari's father died.

What would it have been like if he'd died in Yukari's arms, and she'd had to scrub his blood off her skin? She can't even imagine. She looks at Mitsuru now, and it's half like staring across time into a mirror, half like squinting into the darkness. 

This isn't like what happened with Shinjiro; Mitsuru isn't dealing on her own, in her own way. She isn't dealing at all. Even Akihiko seems to be at a complete loss.

This time Yukari needs to say something. Her restless heart has finally found purpose in freedom, and she understands now how the same wind that scatters can also gather up lost pieces. She how it feels to search through the shadows for something solid enough to stand on, and how it feels when a glimmer of light vindicates the choice. At the very least, she knows how not to pity.

"I don't know what to say to her," Minako confides on the walk to school. "I was so young... it's just not the same. I guess you're in the same boat, huh?"

A decade is a decade, but Minako's loss lies long behind her, while Yukari is still carrying hers like a ball of twine through a labyrinth, like a tether to the moment of catastrophe. Maybe it's simpler to lose everything—pass the bones and walk away empty-handed. "Actually, I think I can relate," she replies. "I'll talk to her."

Minako's face lights up. "Thanks so much! It really hurts seeing her like this." Maybe Yukari should declare a truce with Junpei someday, just to see that level of surprised delight in her smile again.

"Hello, ladies!" greets them the moment they pass the school gates; Junpei and his obnoxious new sidekick are already speaking in unison. Today there will be no truce.

* * *

_To tell you the truth, you're not the easiest person to relate to._

* * *

Running away is cowardly, so Yukari stops herself after a few seconds to catch her breath and wait for Mitsuru to catch up. There's no reason to hurry other than embarrassment; they're already late, and Ms. Student Council President probably gets some leeway with the curfew. And it's stupid to think they could lay their hearts bare to each other but be unable to carry on a normal conversation for five minutes afterward, even if it is five minutes after a tangle of poor phrasing and poorer interpretation.

By the time the distinctive clip of Mitsuru's gait announces her arrival, Yukari has her expression under control. She sends a quick smile over her shoulder as she resumes walking. "They can't get too mad if we're late, right? You can always play the president card."

"Mmm." Mitsuru catches up and matches pace. "You didn't have to wait for me."

"Like we were gonna walk back to the hotel thirty seconds apart? That would be pretty weird, Senpai."

"I suppose." She actually chuckles a little. "Did she send you after me?"

"I would have come regardless," Yukari replies in her best Mitsuru voice. When she sticks her tongue out at the end, she gets a real laugh.

For a few seconds they walk in almost companionable silence, until Mitsuru says, "You used to live in this city, didn't you? Were you born here, or did you move here after your father passed away?"

Maybe she's testing the boundaries of "nothing left to hide," or maybe she's just a little bit socially awkward and Yukari is too accustomed to over-analyzing her. Yukari's a little bit awkward, too, when it comes to opening up. She proved to herself in Minako's hospital room that she has no setting between cheerful deflection and opening the floodgates of her heart.

She puts one foot directly in front of the other as she walks, as if this will help her figure out how to strike a balance. "I was born here. That's probably why I love it so much, come to think of it. I was so little when we moved away that I only have good memories."

Mitsuru nods but doesn't offer empty sympathy or look at her with pity. Encouraged, Yukari continues, "But some things you don't appreciate until you've gone away and grown up, you know? Like, the sunset over the river tonight was so beautiful. I never even noticed it when I was a kid."

"It was gorgeous," Mitsuru agrees. She falls silent but looks like she has more to say, so Yukari waits. "My mother passed away when I was very young, and my father and I moved to another of the family homes shortly afterward. Because I couldn't remember my first home or my mother, what I missed about them both was largely the product of my imagination. When I first summoned Penthesilea, I wanted to believe that she was my mother's spirit."

An iron mask, an armored torso, and a pair of swords—there's more than one way to be maternal. Yukari replies, "Yeah, I never had that problem with Io."

They make eye contact and smile at each other, and it's easy, for a moment. Apparently the best way to keep things from getting awkward is to keep talking about dead parents.

Back at the hotel, they're in luck; Mrs. Terauchi and Ms. Toriumi are in charge of checking in students for the evening, and they're too involved in their game of mahjong to have noticed that curfew was fifteen minutes ago. Yukari and Mitsuru grab a pair of towels and head for the changing room.

"Nothing left to hide" sounded so much better in Yukari's head, but there's no backing out now. She can do this, she tells herself. If she can shoot herself in the head, she can be casually naked with Mitsuru. Minako and Junpei were at the love hotel, too, and they're not the least bit weird around each other now.

Tonight the bath is men-only until later than they ought to stay up, given how early the walking tour leaves tomorrow. The nervous knot in Yukari's stomach loosens, but disappointment weaves its way in; nothing she feels around Mitsuru is simple anymore. She makes a face at the sign on the changing room door.

"It can't be helped," says Mitsuru, with what sounds like a similar blend of annoyance and relief. "Tomorrow night, then?" 

Tomorrow night Fuuka might not be tied up in a long phone call with Natsuki, and Minako might not be wherever she's run off to tonight. No reason not to make this a group outing. "Okay, it's a date!"

Mitsuru reddens, and Yukari resorts again to, "Hey, I didn't mean it like that!"

* * *

_Now that we have everything out in the open, there's nothing left for us to hide!_

* * *

They're taking a bath together tonight with the rest of the girls, but Yukari wants to have something first that is only theirs, now that they've turned a corner. More importantly, given all of yesterday's stupid blushing, she doesn't want their first official friendly bonding activity to be awkward. Today Yukari is determined to find something to do that keeps them both fully clothed.

She isn't sure what might appeal to Mitsuru, who seems to be enjoying the walking tour but doesn't exhibit more than a polite interest in any of the souvenir shops. (Mitsuru isn't much of a shopper, she's noticed. The appeal must diminish when money is just the background noise of your life.) Getting geisha makeovers at Maika would be fun, but if Junpei found out about it, they'd never live it down.

As the group drifts westward, Yukari finally gets an idea. "Hey, Senpai, what do you think about yuzen dyeing?"

Mitsuru blinks. "The work of a skilled artisan is breathtaking, but I don't know much about the process itself."

"Wanna learn? There's a place just up the road that lets you make your own furoshiki." 

Whooping draws Mitsuru's gaze back to the rest of the group. Minako and Junpei have begun fencing with souvenir umbrellas, to the noisy delight of almost everyone but the shop owner. If Ms. Toriumi finds out, she'll pop a blood vessel; Class 2-F was also responsible for yesterday's temple expulsion.

"Arisato!" Mitsuru barks. "Iori! Where do you think you are?"

The umbrellas are sheepishly returned to their display stands. 

"We shouldn't wander off," Mitsuru says to Yukari. "In lieu of a chaperone, it's my duty as a senior to keep the juniors in line."

Technically, there _is_ a chaperone with this group, but Ms. Kanou passed around copies of the itinerary and slipped away after lunch. By now she's probably spending her way through the Takashimaya Department Store. Meanwhile, the Minako-Junpei-Ryoji Katamari of Terrible Enthusiasm is rolling toward the next unsuspecting shop, with Aigis in hot pursuit. The trouble with Minako is that she gets along with everyone, even when exceptions might be in order.

Yukari sighs. "Yeah, I guess we've gotta stick with the group today." That reduces her bonding options to souvenirs, which will be tricky. She sweeps her gaze over the nearby windows, pausing to glare at that one creepy girl who's always staring at Mitsuru, before saying, "Wanna check out the chirimen shop?"

At least the chirimen crafts stick out from the sea of lacquer and silk, and are less likely to be prohibitively expensive. On the way, they pass a display of kokeshi, and Yukari rolls her eyes at it. "Geez, they're all geishas. I guess tourists are really into that stereotype, huh?"

"The purpose of a souvenir is to preserve the essence of a place, isn't it?" Mitsuru says. "Geishas are an essential part of Kyoto's mystique."

"You're into geishas, Senpai?"

Mitsuru blushes. "For me, it's the elegance of the aesthetic... I don't know that it would suit me, though."

Now Yukari regrets suggesting yuzen dyeing over a trip to Maika, which might have enticed Mitsuru away from the group. Her imagination churns out visions of Mitsuru in a maiko's makeup, hair elaborately pinned, nape exposed. "Are you kidding? You'd look amazing!" 

The blush deepens. Yukari's brain jaunts sideways into memories of that maid outfit, until she has to shake her head to knock it back on track. Her face has to be nearly as red as Mitsuru's. The shop offers her an escape route, which she takes: "So hey, these rabbit charms are pretty cute!"

It wouldn't be an issue, Yukari keeps telling herself, if it hadn't been for that stupid Shadow at the stupid love hotel. Months later, her wires are still crossed. And it's difficult not to look at Mitsuru's breasts when they're basically a trap waiting to catch averted eye contact; when she sees Junpei again, she's going to let him have it for running his stupid mouth and making her aware that they are, in fact, bigger than Mitsuru's face.

They pass between curtains of chirimen mobiles stretching from ceiling to floor. In the back are simpler chirimen crafts, small dolls and smaller charms and little coin purses, along with an impressive tiered display of dolls for Hinamatsuri. It can't be half as fancy as anything Mitsuru grew accustomed to as a child, but it captures her interest, perhaps because these dolls are entirely chirimen, not just their clothing. As she leans in for a closer look at the empress doll, Yukari turns her attention to a bin of individual hanging ornaments.

No empresses inside, but one of the dolls looks just a simplified version of the court attendant in the center of the second tier, down to the tiny serving tray. Yukari sneaks it off to purchase.

She waits at the front of the shop by the obligatory boxes of yatsuhashi, holding the gift behind her back, until Mitsuru approaches and says, "There you are. I thought you'd gotten lost in the mobiles."

It's still a little weird when she makes jokes, but also gratifying. Yukari winks and plays along: "Nah, I know my way around. I even found something for you, Senpai!"

When she holds out the doll, Mitsuru's smile turns to open-mouthed shock. "T-Takeba, you didn't have to—"

"That's the point! It's not really a gift if you _have_ to." She bobs the doll up and down on its string. "It's got that classy geisha look, see? So you can remember the essence of Kyoto."

"The essence of Kyoto—geishas, and coming to this shop with you?" A blush creeps over Mitsuru's face, but only a faint one; she must be getting better at dealing with Yukari. Expression softening, she holds out her hands and lets Yukari lower the doll into them. "I'll treasure it. Thank you, Yukari."

The use of her given name is such a small thing, but Mitsuru has a way of making everything sound important. Yukari's cheeks warm. "I'm glad you like it. You're not easy to shop for, ya know." 

Awkward again. Yukari glances past Mitsuru at the street and adds, "Oh hey, the group's getting ahead of us! Better hurry!" On impulse, she reaches for Mitsuru's hand. 

The contact should be casual; too late, when they've both jerked their hands away as if shocked, Yukari realizes that she and Mitsuru still can't be casual. Antipathy and empathy don't cancel each other out, and won't just wash away. They may never have a conversation that isn't at least a little bit fraught, one way or another.

Across the street, something crashes. "I didn't do it!" Junpei yells.

Mitsuru tucks the doll carefully into her pocket, takes a deep breath, and marches out to investigate his claim.

* * *

_You're so easy to read._

* * *

"I've made my decision," she said, but the truth is that there was never much to decide. Yukari has spent her entire life fighting; she's not about to go out quietly at the end. Now that her choice is out in the air, in harmony with Mitsuru's, peace settles over her like a steadying hand. Funny how a simple conversation can make the floor feel more solid under her feet. 

And if the bed doesn't feel any more solid under her butt, well, that's probably because Mitsuru was just sitting on it beside her, and Yukari's beginning to doubt that she can blame every butterfly in her stomach on the love hotel. Only beginning, because thinking about it makes her feel like the butterflies are swarming into her head. Maybe this is something she could talk to Minako about, if she weren't convinced that she'll die of embarrassment the moment she brings it up. (In the past few days, she has stopped herself from sending half a dozen late-night texts to Fuuka asking if there's any _good_ pornography on the Internet, because so far none of it has helped her figure out anything except that most of the Internet is gross.)

That Mitsuru's standing probably means that she's about to leave, but she's not making any move toward the door. Maybe she doesn't want to go, or maybe she's just basking in the moment, too. Yukari risks awkwardness to ask, "Are you busy today, Senpai?"

"I have some paperwork to complete for the Group, but nothing especially pressing." Mitsuru crosses one arm over her body and averts her gaze; she's less comfortable than she was a moment ago. "If you're also free, it occurs to me that I've visited your room more than once, but I've been remiss in inviting you to mine. Would you like to watch a movie together?"

Yukari is all butterflies, head to toe. "Sounds like fun! Hang on, I'll grab some snacks."

" _Très bien!_ Movies are more fun with snacks, aren't they?"

The random French used to annoy Yukari until she realized that it meant Mitsuru was feeling playful. Now something warm blooms in her chest whenever Mitsuru is relaxed enough around her to use it. "Totally _oui_ ," she replies, and gets a chuckle for it.

Everything Yukari has stashed in her room is either chocolate or potato chips, which don't seem like Mitsuru foods, but she's pretty sure that butter and soy sauce chips are objectively delicious. Bags in hand, she follows Mitsuru down the hall.

The room looks like something out of a show about celebrity lifestyles: antique furniture, heavy red curtains, plush carpet, classy paintings. Only the enormous television set stops it from looking like the set of a period drama. When Yukari peers to the left, she finds a short hallway leading to the bedroom and what looks like an en-suite bathroom. "Wow, Senpai, it's like a real apartment in here! I had no idea any of the rooms were this big!"

"This is the only one," Mitsuru replies, with a hint of embarrassment. "When I was moved in here, it was considered inappropriate for the heir to the Kirijo Group to live in a standard dorm room."

"Better keep it a secret if you don't want everyone hanging out in your room instead of the lounge." 

Mitsuru smiles. "I prefer the lounge, myself. But please, make yourself at home. What sort of movie are you in the mood for?"

Yukari helps herself to a seat on one of the sofas, which isn't nearly as comfortable as the broken-in furniture downstairs. She relocates a vase full of silk flowers in order to spread the food over the coffee table. "I dunno. Not a horror movie."

"Noted. I'll veto romantic comedies, as well, since I learned this summer that I'm a poor audience for them." Mitsuru roots through the shelves under the television. "How do you feel about classic films?"

"Honestly, super-bored." As she opens the bag of butter and soy sauce chips, Yukari adds, "Maybe no apocalypse movies, either. That's a little too close to home right now."

The noise Mitsuru makes is probably a laugh; it's hard to be sure without seeing her face. "If anyone had told me a year ago... Ah, how would you feel about a warrior princess defending her homeland?"

"Sounds like my kind of girl."

The movie turns out to be focused less on freedom-fighting and more on gorgeous scenery and elaborate costuming, which Yukari finds a little dull but Mitsuru seems entranced by. As the camera lingers on a shot of the heroine overlooking the valley of her kingdom, her intricate braids lit bronze by the setting sun, Yukari decides to test whether Mitsuru minds talking during movies. She doesn't seem to mind the noise of crunching chips, at least. "Hey, Senpai, you ever think about doing your hair like that?"

"Hmm?" Mitsuru glances over from her seat on the other sofa without any sign of irritation. She swallows a mouthful of chips before replying, "Well, it wouldn't be appropriate in the workplace, of course."

"Well, _yeah_. I meant more, like, weekend hair."

"Honestly, I wouldn't know where to begin with it."

"Really? It's just braiding. The crown part's kinda tricky, but the little braids in the back would just take time."

Mitsuru focuses on the bag of butter and soy sauce chips, scraping the bottom in case there's anything left. She's progressed pretty quickly from trying to eat them with chopsticks. "I couldn't do it myself, regardless. Braiding hair is a skill I've never had cause to learn."

Come to think of it, Mitsuru probably didn't spend a lot of time having sleepovers with other girls, but Yukari still can't help sounding incredulous. "Really? Never?"

"When I was still young enough for such a style to be appropriate, the maid staff took care of everything." Mitsuru shrugs and withdraws her hand from the bag, frowning at the mess of grease and crumbs on her fingers.

"It's okay to lick 'em off," Yukari says. "And then come over here so I can teach you. Braiding's easy."

After a moment's uncertainty, Mitsuru tentatively laps at one of her fingers, and Yukari has to glue her attention to the screen to keep from squirming. It's stupid; she's been grossed out by people licking their fingers clean before, but she's certainly never been the hot kind of bothered by it. Nothing with Mitsuru is ever as comfortable as it should be.

She's still staring at the screen, failing to process any of the events, when Mitsuru sits down beside her on the sofa. After pausing the movie (because who'd want to miss another gripping outdoor diplomatic discussion?), Mitsuru says, "What's the first step?"

"Um, watch me, I guess." Yukari sections off some of her hair and pulls it forward past her ear. "You make three strands and cross them over in order, like this, see?"

Mitsuru watches Yukari's fingers as if this technique will be on her next exam. Lips pursed in concentration, she begins practice on a long lock of her own hair. The strands aren't perfectly even, but it's not bad work. Once upon a time, Yukari thought that Mitsuru never struggled with anything at all; now her effort-face is quite familiar.

"That's it, Senpai! See, it's not hard at all." Yukari shakes her sample braid loose. "It's a little harder if you start from the scalp, but nothing you can't handle."

Pulling her first braid in front of her face for inspection, Mitsuru smiles. "I see. Will you teach me that as well?"

"Tell ya what, why don't you sit on the floor and I'll braid a crown for you? I haven't had long hair since I was a kid, and I kinda miss playing with it."

"Ah... all right." Mitsuru moves quickly, probably to hide her face, and folds her legs neatly underneath herself. As Yukari finger-combs her hair, she resumes the movie. The stiffness in her shoulders gradually eases.

Just once, Yukari wonders what it would be like to think an idea all the way through before running her mouth. She's pretty sure she used to be able to manage it—after all, she ended up one of the popular girls at Gekkoukan without tearing other girls down or playing dumb and helpless—but that was when she kept everyone at a manageable distance. Letting people get close has meant letting them slip past her filters.

For now, Mitsuru seems content with the situation, though Yukari can't check her expression from this angle. Every now and then the brush of Yukari's fingers against her neck elicits a little shiver. 

Mitsuru's hair is thick and shiny and easy to braid; the evil empire hasn't even finished planning its invasion by the time Yukari completes the crown. Having learned better than to grab Mitsuru's hand, Yukari says, "Okay, Senpai, hold this part down and let me see how it looks."

When Mitsuru turns around, fingers pressed behind her ear, Yukari's butterflies rise. It's strange to see all of Mitsuru's face; she looks open and lovely and a little vulnerable, and her complexion is unfairly flawless. "Does it suit me?" she asks.

"Uh, _yeah_. Wow." 

Mitsuru looks uncertain. "Are you teasing me again?"

"Not even a little." Yukari coughs the catch out of her throat. "Do you have a hair clip or something to hold it?"

"I have the bands I use to hold my hair back during fencing practice."

"Nah, too bulky. I've got a ton of clips and stuff. Hang on, I'll be right back."

Mitsuru pauses the movie on a frame of the heroine drawing her bow. Yukari embraces the distraction, hoping she looks half that cool in battle.

She enters the hall and pulls the door shut behind her just in time for Minako to appear at the top of the stairs. The gleam in those eyes can't mean anything good.

Hoping to forestall the issue, Yukari heads for her own room. She hasn't even turned the doorknob before Minako catches up to her, elbows her, and says, "You made it into Senpai's room, huh? Way to go!"

"W-what? I have no idea what you're talking about," Yukari replies, but she can feel herself turning several shades of "I know exactly what you're talking about."

As she hastens inside her room, Minako says, "Um, do I need to tell you? 'Cuz it's kinda obvious—"

"Not in the hallway!" In full damage-control mode, Yukari grabs Minako by her wrist and drags her inside. She slams the door hard enough to rattle a stack of CDs.

As expected, Yukari can't unfluster herself long enough to put any words together. Minako pats her on the shoulder and says in a soothing voice, "Listen, from one girl who's dealt with an awkward senpai to another, you're gonna have to make the first move. Just put your mouth on her mouth and she'll get the idea."

"H-hey, you've got it all wrong! I'm... not..." Yukari's efforts at a protest sputter out as it becomes apparent that she's not kidding Minako, or even herself. She sighs heavily and extends her pinkie finger. "Promise you won't tell anybody. _Especially_ Junpei."

Minako obliges. Her finger curls tight around Yukari's as she says, "I am sworn to secrecy. I'm not gonna play dumb if anyone catches you making out in the lounge, though."

Yukari jerks her finger free. "That is so not happening! New Year's Eve is in less than two weeks!"

"Exactly! Do you want to sit around worrying about it, or do you want to make out with someone you should have made out with a long time ago?"

"Nuh-uh. You're doing that thing where you act like there aren't a ton of other options. Like, y'know, _not having terrible timing_."

Minako shakes her head. "I'm starting to think there's not really a right time for anything. You get this idea of what it's supposed to be like, but it's never like that. Or it finally is, but then you realize how much more time you would have had if you'd done something sooner." 

The air feels heavier. Yukari looks down at her hands as she says, "I guess you'd know, huh?"

"That's true for all of us by now, right? Sorry, I'm not trying to be a total downer." When Yukari looks up, Minako is smiling again, like her heart isn't a lump of scar tissue. "Anyway, it's your call, but I think you should go for it."

"Thanks? I think?" Yukari sighs and rubs her forehead. "I'm having this great idea where we pretend the pinky-swear is the only part of this conversation that ever happened."

"Okay, okay. Consider it un-brought up." Minako pats her shoulder again, then heads out into the hallway. Unable to recall why she was going to her room in the first place, Yukari follows.

Three steps later, Minako doubles back to whisper in her ear, "Remember, mouth on mouth!"

Yukari shoves her toward the stairs. "Ughhh, I don't even know how to deal with you when you're like this."

When she lets herself back into Mitsuru's room, Mitsuru turns to look at her curiously, and Yukari realizes that she is both beet-red and carrying exactly zero hair clips. She swears under her breath. "I'll, uh, I'll be right back, Senpai."

* * *

_But this Christmas, I just want one thing, and it doesn't cost anything._

* * *

"Just the two of us?"

Yukari's tongue sticks to the roof of her mouth, and the words she'd been planning to say slide back down her throat. Her cheeks burn. "I-if you want to."

Mitsuru hesitates, as if she's waiting to hear that Yukari didn't mean it _that_ way. When no corrections are forthcoming, she glances down at her feet, folds her arms, and finally looks Yukari in the eye again. "I'd like to. Shall we meet after school?"

"Yeah!" The word comes out at a volume that turns heads up and down the school hallway. Since the floor isn't willing to open up and swallow Yukari, she settles for dropping her voice, though she can't stop the pitch from creeping up: "I mean, sounds good. Yay? We can go to the mall?" She has just proven that's it's impossible to die of embarrassment. 

The moment she sees the beginning of a nod from Mitsuru, she adds, "Great! See ya!" and hurries back to her classroom. By the time everyone else returns from lunch, she has composed herself enough to meet Minako's questioning look with a nod, then accept a high-five.

"Am I missin' something?" Junpei asks.

Minako hums. "Your math homework?"

"Aw, shit!"

Yukari lets math class glide past her, along with the rest of the afternoon, as she second-guesses herself. When she meets Mitsuru by the shoe lockers after the last bell, she clasps her sweaty hands behind her back to keep them out of trouble. It's still a little terrifying to have anyone so deep in what used to be walled garden of her heart, leaving footprints through the rings of rubble. Love against the inevitability of loss, she's prepared to handle; it's asymmetry that scares her now, and Mitsuru was easier to read at a distance.

They walk side-by-side, making small talk. Couples drift around them, flowing toward the mall or branching out toward restaurants. "It got cold early this year, huh?" Yukari says. "I hope Chagall's open today."

"If it is, it's my treat," Mitsuru replies. Yukari's heart flutters hopefully.

Paulownia Mall has outdone itself this year: every storefront winks and glimmers, cones of lights are trees from one angle and the trails of shooting stars from another, and a thousand glowing strands dangle and sway from the high ceiling, like upside-down seaweed. Looking up at them is almost like peering down into the ocean, into the layered reflections of stars.

" _Magnifique_ ," Mitsuru pronounces it as they take the slow, scenic route to Chagall.

Yukari nods. "It's like a sea of illumination. I feel like I could close my eyes and float in it."

Piping hot drinks in hand, they sit beside each other on a bench by the fountain and watch the lights play around them. Couples stroll past the shops, hand in hand; Yukari rests her right hand between herself and Mitsuru and splays it in invitation. Mitsuru is too engrossed in staring into her hot cocoa to notice.

For a while the only sounds are the overlapping murmurs of other conversations and the bright trickling of the fountain. Yukari blows on her cocoa until it's cool enough to drink, while Mitsuru sips delicately at hers, like a cat.

A week away from New Year's Eve, and here's Yukari, afraid to ask whether this is really a date. She knocks back the rest of her drink for sweet courage. "Senpai, I—"

"Wait." Mitsuru unwraps a hand from her cup and raises it. "As your senpai, I shouldn't rely on you to take the initiative."

Yukari snorts. "I'm pretty used to it by now."

"Let me have this one, please?"

It's a stupid thing to fight over. Which doesn't always stop Yukari, but she's been trying harder lately to let it. "Fine."

"Thank you." Mitsuru tips her cup back, polishes off the contents, and sets it at the foot of the bench. She breathes out a little puff of steam before facing Yukari again. "I'm accustomed to controlling my feelings. There are things I've wanted to tell you for some time, but it's always been easier for me to keep secrets than to share them. I..." She bites her lip and looks down at her lap. "I feel like I'm going to die of embarrassment." 

"You actually can't," Yukari says. "Trust me."

Mitsuru's shoulders shake as she laughs. "This shouldn't be so difficult, should it? In Kyoto, when I asked you to stand with me, despite everything... Let me start over." She takes a deep breath and folds her hands together in her lap, then meets Yukari's eyes again. Her fingers flex together; she's actually fidgeting for once. "When I asked you to stand with me, I wish that I had asked for more. I want to sit with you, as well, and walk beside you, and share all of myself with you. My responsibilities to the Group constrain me, and I may selfishly ask for more than I can offer, but what I ask now—for whatever time is left to us—is to be with you."

Yukari tries to reply and discovers that she has to breathe, first. Out of her mouth tumbles, "I wanna kiss you."

They stare at each other, frozen and fraught as photographed lightning, then fall together laughing. Mitsuru presses her forehead to Yukari's, her hair sweeping around them like a curtain. Her breath washes warm and smells faintly of chocolate. Her eyelashes brush Yukari's cheek. For a moment they only breathe together.

Yukari's lips are dry. She flicks her tongue over them and angles her head just before Mitsuru tilts in the same direction. Three tries and a round of nervous laughter later, they finally get their mouths together.

It's so different when Yukari is in control of herself. She's so _aware_ : of the wild beating of her heart, of the lock of hair curling around her throat, of the shape of Mitsuru's lips, of the lingering taste of cocoa on her tongue. Mitsuru's hand slips over hers and weaves through her fingers.

When Yukari pulls back to breathe, it occurs to her that she could have breathed through her nose. She'll remember that for next time. Mitsuru's cheeks are flushed and her eyes are bright; there'll be a next time.

Yukari opens her mouth to say something to that effect, but nothing comes out before Mitsuru kisses her again.

* * *

_The most important thing is the connection two people share._

* * *

When Yukari returns with two bags of groceries, Fuuka is the only one in the lounge, with Koromaru curled up at her feet. She hops up from her chair and asks, "Can I get one of those for you, Yukari-chan?"

The bags are so light that Yukari doesn't really need the help, but that's not the point. After offering half her burden and her thanks, she leads the way into the kitchen. Koromaru follows, sniffing the air.

"Carrots and fresh spinach?" Fuuka picks one of the former out of the bag as a visual aid as she asks, "What are you making?"

With a flourish, Yukari pulls a recipe print-out from the other bag. "Special dog food! You're gonna eat like a champ tonight, Koro-chan!" Koromaru runs laps around her ankles, yipping eagerly. She bends to scratch behind his ears. "That's right, I'm gonna make it up to you for that burned dinner. Consider this your overdue sushi special, too!"

He plops down in place, tail thumping against his back, and opens his mouth.

"Sorry, Koro-chan," Fuuka looks up from the recipe to add, "but it looks like it'll take a little while. We'll give it to you as soon as it's ready, okay?"

With a low _woof_ , he settles in by the entrance to the kitchen, paws crossed, tag still a blur.

As Yukari spreads the ingredients out on the countertop, she says, "Wanna help, Fuuka? I could use an extra pair of hands."

"Oh, no, I'll just be moral support."

"C'mon, don't be like that! I hear you're really rocking it in the cooking club lately."

Fuuka smiles shyly. "Well, I haven't burned anything in over a month."

"Then welcome aboard, sous-chef!" Yukari claps her on the back and drapes a clean tea towel over her shoulders like a tiny cape. "Okay, so let's see... Fuuka, can you start the rice? I'll brown the beef."

"Aye-aye, captain!"

The smell attracts both Akihiko, who can sense protein from a block away, and Junpei, who is forever hopeful that any food made in the kitchen might be for him. "Sorry, guys," Yukari tells them, "but this is all for Koro-chan. He didn't get any sushi, remember?"

"Man, I'll never forget that sushi." Junpei crouches to pet Koromaru. "You're livin' the high life now, huh, little buddy? Of course, with these two in the kitchen, ya might want me to taste it for you first..."

"Nice try, Stupei."

Koromaru wiggles his hindquarters and barks twice.

"He says that he'll offer you some but fail to deliver," says Aigis, who can creep up like a ninja despite those metal feet.

Junpei sighs. "Even the dog's a smartass now."

When Ken wanders in, Yukari begins to understand why Shinjiro had so little patience for an audience when he cooked. Chopping the carrots requires tucking her arms against her sides. "Hey, guys, a little room here...?"

The front door opens loudly enough to be heard over the layers of conversations, and Minako and Mitsuru's voices carry from the lounge. The familiar clack of boots precedes, " _Ça sent bon!_ "

"It's all for Koromaru," Ken says. An affirmative bark follows.

Yukari twists around to make eye contact with Mitsuru, who nods and uses her authoritative voice: "Then surely there's no need for everyone to crowd the kitchen. Isn't there a saying about too many cooks?"

This finally gets the party to funnel out into the lounge. Fuuka slips into the exodus, so Yukari has to catch her by the shoulder and say, "Not you, sous-chef! Can you mix these in with the beef?"

"I-I think so." Fuuka takes the bowl of carrot chunks and peers warily into it. "Are there any tricks to this?"

Yukari shakes her head. "Just dump 'em in and mix everything up, then stir it around every couple minutes so the beef doesn't stick to the pan. I'm gonna chop the spinach."

For all her uncertainly, Fuuka manages just fine. After setting the timer on her phone (for two minutes exactly, no doubt), she looks to Yukari for approval and gets a warm "Yep, just like that!" in response.

Fuuka beams. "Minako-chan's been so patient with me. Shinjiro-senpai was, too. I've really come a long way." She glances out into the lounge, where Mitsuru has just promised to sponsor another sushi feast once the world is saved, to thunderous approval. "You know, I used to think Mitsuru-senpai was a little intimidating, but she's really a kind person, isn't she? I'm glad she's started joining us for girl talk."

"Yeah, she's... I'm really glad, too." For her thumb's safety, Yukari stops chopping for a moment to take a deep breath. "Is the rice ready?"

Fuuka consults the rice cooker display. "Five more minutes."

"Okay. Can you crack a couple eggs in with the beef and carrots?" Yukari senses the impending question and heads it off: "Whites and yolks, no shells."

"Got it!"

When the meal is served and Koromaru is salivating over his dish, waiting for it to cool, Yukari high-fives Fuuka, then leans back against the partial wall behind the TV to enjoy the moment. Mitsuru stands beside her and slips an arm around her waist, remarking, " _Quelle bonne idée._ "

Yukari blushes. "I just wanted to make sure Koro-chan knows how much we appreciate him, ya know? I wasn't expecting it to turn into a bonding experience or anything, but I'm not complaining." Mitsuru shifts a little closer, sliding her hand over Yukari's hip. This is edging toward the making-out-in-the-lounge line. "Um, you're sure affectionate today."

"I apologize if I've made you uncomfortable." Mitsuru's arm slips back to her side, and Yukari feels cold in its absence. "Today, with Arisato's aid, I cast off the chains shackling my future. Paths I thought were closed to me have been open all along; it's my own fault I've been blind to them." She drops her voice to add, "We should talk later, in private."

Yukari gives her a pointed look. "You're been keeping secrets from me again, huh?"

"I suppose it's not an easy habit to break."

It's hard not to be a little jealous, even knowing that Minako is the easiest person in the world to confide in. "How mad am I gonna be?"

Mitsuru is thoughtfully quiet for a moment. "You'll be furious that I didn't tell you any of this sooner, but ultimately you'll be pleased with the outcome. I promise not to make you angrier by claiming it was for your own good."

"Hmph." Yukari maintains her frown, but she also pulls Mitsuru's arm gently back around her waist. "Then I promise not to yell too much."

* * *

_But, I don't want to have any regrets... because this is what I chose._

* * *

Right now it's easier to think about facing death than to knock on Mitsuru's door.

Yukari has been standing in the hallway in her pajamas for nearly a quarter of an hour now, not counting all the time spent going back to her room to change into nicer underwear and restyle her hair. She's not directly in front of Mitsuru's door, because that would look too weird if anyone else passed by, but there's no way to hang around like this without looking at least a little weird. She shouldn't even care about looking weird at this point. She should just be knocking, already.

When, she wonders, did she turn into such a big chicken?

The sound of a door creaking open makes her jump. Luckily it's just Minako, who doesn't need to ask any questions. She grins and winks at Yukari on her way to the bathroom.

A few seconds later, Yukari's phone buzzes in her pajama pants with a text message: "ლ(´◉❥◉｀ლ)"

The laugh she suppresses comes out as a snort. "OMG, you're such a butt," she types back before putting her phone away, taking a deep breath, and rapping her knuckles against the door.

The silence that follows feels eternal. Maybe Mitsuru has already fallen asleep. Just because Yukari can't imagine sleeping tonight doesn't mean no one else can. Maybe Mitsuru wants to be alone tonight. Maybe—

Footsteps pad toward the door. Even barefoot, Mitsuru's stride is distinct, albeit slower and softer than usual tonight. Yukari feels like her entire digestive tract is fluttering. The door opens in slow motion.

Of course Mitsuru sleeps in a black silk nightgown. Yukari feels like a kid in her pink, patterned cotton, but the best she can do for sexy sleepwear is leaving the top few buttons undone. She resists the urge to undo another button on the spot. "Hey, Senpai," she says, which wouldn't sound smooth even if her voice were steadier. "Can I come in?"

"O-of course." Mitsuru hesitates for a moment, neither moving aside nor opening the door any wider, before extending her hand. There's still an electric charge to taking it; they can be so many things to each other, but never casual.

Yukari kicks off her slippers and lets herself be led down the little corridor to the bedroom area, bare feet sinking into the plush carpet with every step. From the look of it, Mitsuru hasn't even been trying to sleep: the bed is turned down but otherwise undisturbed. Mitsuru's hand slides away as she sits down on it and rests her back against the headboard. 

"To be honest," Mitsuru says, "I was ten minutes away from knocking on your door."

Relief leaves Yukari almost dizzy, and she giggles more loudly than she probably should. "Then I'm glad I finally got my act together. Your room's a lot nicer than mine."

"I'm glad, too. I suppose... we both want..." Mitsuru averts her gaze and catches her lip between her teeth, then makes eye contact so intense that Yukari has to fight the urge to look away. "Are we both here tonight for the same reason?"

The chirimen doll hangs from her bedside lamp, where it might be the last thing Mitsuru sees before she turns out the lights and the first thing she sees when she turns them on. Emboldened, Yukari replies, "I dunno about you, but I was thinking... Whatever happens tomorrow, I don't want to face Nyx with any regrets. I want to know that I did everything I could, when I could."

Mitsuru frowns. "Have you resigned yourself to losing?"

"No way! C'mon, you know me better than that." Yukari stands tall, like a warrior. "We're gonna kick Nyx's butt tomorrow. Or whatever part of it looks most like a butt, anyways." The frown softens and inverts. "Now that you're not engaged to some gross old jerk—still kinda mad about that, by the way—I want to put a claim on your future. Which sounds super-creepy, but what I mean is, I'm thinking about where I wanna pick back up with you afterwards. Sorry if I'm not making sense."

"No, I understand completely. We're not standing in the shadow of an inevitable end. The future I want to protect—the future I want to face head-on—is a future with you." 

Mitsuru scoots backward on her sheets, leaving space for Yukari to sit at the foot of the bed. The bedroom curtains are slightly parted, allowing a sliver of moonlight to fall between them. It's so cold outside that Yukari can feel the chill seeping in through the glass, despite the hammering heat of her pulse.

They watch each other for a while, gazes meeting and sliding apart. It might be time for Yukari to unbutton more of her pajama top, but she can't seem to muster the nerve.

"Do you... I mean..." Mitsuru gestures vaguely, as if she's hoping to catch hold of her comfort zone. "How does this... happen?"

Yukari's not sure which of them is more flustered at this point. "I dunno, I guess we just, um..." As she stammers in search of a conclusion, Mitsuru picks up her laptop and opens the lid. "Wait, what are you doing?"

Mitsuru glances up while typing. "Looking online for a diagram."

"Ugh, that's so embarrassing! We could just... do what we do. You know, to ourselves. Only to each other. You _do_ , right?"

Mitsuru's face is several shades darker than her hair. "Yukari, how is that less embarrassing than a diagram?"

"Because the Internet is ninety percent gross!" Yukari peeks at the screen and recoils when she sees a page of search results for _lesbian sexual intimacy_. "Oh my god, don't click any of those."

Mercifully, the screen goes dark as the Dark Hour descends. The second-to-last Dark Hour, one way or another, but Yukari's not going to dwell on that; she has half a private worry about it, but nothing she's thought through far enough to share. Instead she reaches over to take the laptop and keeps her gaze focused on Mitsuru, washed green and silver in the light that spills in between the curtains. "Look, it can't be that hard," she says. "Didn't you just ace the college admissions exam?"

Mitsuru laughs. "This wasn't one of the subject areas."

"I think we're both pretty quick learners, though." Yukari stows the laptop and her phone on the nightstand. "How about we just feel our way through it?"

The nod she gets is all she needs. Leaning forward on her knees, she braces one hand on the mattress by Mitsuru's hip and uses the other to brush Mitsuru's hair out of her face. As Yukari moves closer, lips parted, Mitsuru rises to meet her halfway. It's different this time from every other time—less soft, less nervous, more slow and certain and deep. Mitsuru's hands unfasten the buttons on Yukari's pajamas, and _oh my god this is really happening_ becomes the sun that her thoughts spin around. 

She lifts her arms one by one and shrugs to help Mitsuru slide her sleeves off. Every exposed bit of her shivers, probably more from nerves than actual cold, but the feeling eases as Mitsuru's arms wrap around her and pull her down, hands gliding up and down her bare back. Mitsuru's mouth shifts to kiss and suck at her throat.

" _J'ai envie de toi,_ " Mitsuru whispers into her skin.

"Bad idea," Yukari gasps. "You're gonna make me get all tingly every time you say ' _oui_ ' in public."

A low chuckle vibrates through Mitsuru's chest. " _Pardon_."

Yukari groans; her nipples are stiffening, and she can feel Mitsuru's pressing into her, but there's still silk in the way. "Cut that out and help me get your clothes off."

She sits back on her heels, breathing hard, as Mitsuru works her nightgown off over her head. The fabric catches on Mitsuru's breasts, which bounce heavily when they slip free. Yukari cups one in each hand, testing their weight and softness. Pressing them together creates fascinating cleavage.

"Are they really so interesting to you?" Mitsuru asks. "You have your own." To demonstrate, she curves her hand under one of Yukari's breasts and circles the nipple with her thumb.

"Mmm. Yeah, but yours are... yours." Yukari's brain is increasingly unwilling to cooperate with words; she wonders if it's normal to be able to carry on a conversation during sex. To give her mouth something better to do, she leans in and licks around an areola. It just tastes like skin, but so soft, trembling as Mitsuru takes quicker and heavier breaths. Yukari stiffens her tongue and flicks it over a nipple until she has something firm enough to catch between her lips. Sweet moans encourage her.

Mitsuru's hands pull her closer, then wander over her back again, and down her sides, and over her hips. One slips beneath the waistband of her pants and goes exploring between her thighs, pressing too gently at the damp crotch of her underwear. Yukari's hips buck forward.

"Ah!" Mitsuru hisses and pulls her hand back. "You're on my hair."

"Sorry!" Yukari raises her knee and sweeps the locks to safety. "Maybe we should take turns."

"That seems best. Should I—"

Yukari cuts her off with a kiss. "Just let me keep going, okay? Tell me what feels good."

Mitsuru frowns slightly, but she's already on her back and closer to naked. Even she must realize that this isn't the time for a debate over who should be responsible for taking the lead. With a nod, she sets her hand on Yukari's nape and guides Yukari gently back to her chest.

Sex is incredibly wet, Yukari is discovering. They're both sweating, she's thoroughly slicked both of Mitsuru's breasts with her tongue, and she feels like she's soaking through her pajama pants. Wondering how wet Mitsuru is, she pulls back far enough to see what she's doing and slides her hands down to Mitsuru's hips to catch the hem of her underwear. She looks to Mitsuru for permission; in response, Mitsuru arches her back and helps Yukari slide the last bit of silk off her body.

As Mitsuru settles back against the mattress, Yukari is glad for the dimness of the light. Otherwise she might find it too easy to compare details, to wonder if one of them is more normal, to worry that Mitsuru will find her strange or disappointing. As it is, Yukari's anxiety is sweetened by eagerness and softened by near-disbelief. She strokes her fingers up and down the inside of Mitsuru's thigh until she works up the nerve to brush the damp thicket of hair.

Mitsuru is panting now, spreading her thighs farther and farther. Yukari takes it as encouragement to dip a finger between the seam of her labia. It's almost a familiar feeling, just at a different angle than usual. When she twists her wrist, she finds her bearings. Her fingertips trace between folds; her thumb circles the swell of Mitsuru's clit. Every place is hot, slick, welcoming.

One of Mitsuru's hands fists the sheets as the other rises to knead her breast. "I want to feel you inside me."

It feels like someone set a fire under Yukari's skin. Resisting the urge to do something about the furious throbbing between her own thighs, she runs a finger along Mitsuru's entrance before pressing it inside. It hardly feels like pressing at all, more like Mitsuru's sucking her in. A second finger follows just as smoothly. Wet heat grips her tight, and Yukari wonders if she clenches around her own fingers like this. She's never paid much attention to how her hands feel when she touches herself.

Flexing her fingers, she feels her way around and asks, "Like this, Senpai?"

"J-just 'Mitsuru,' please."

Yukari takes her in for a moment—naked and splayed, loose hair clinging to the sheen of her sweat, chest heaving, with Yukari knuckle-deep inside her—and bursts into laughter. "Too formal, huh?"

The soft parts of Mitsuru's body quiver as she laughs, too. Yukari cups the curve of her hip with her free hand, as if to still her, and begins to pump her fingers in and out: gently at first, and quite slowly, watching Mitsuru's expressions. When she gets ragged breathing and a moan, she thrusts harder.

"Put your thumb," Mitsuru begins, then shakes her head as Yukari puts pressure directly on her clit. "Above. A little lower. Now harder—yes!"

Yukari keeps going, pace and pressure steady. Mitsuru trembles around her as she closes her eyes and squeezes her breast. Her face and chest are flushed scarlet.

"You're beautiful, Mitsuru," Yukari whispers. "I want all of you. I'm not gonna let anyone take you away from me."

Mitsuru clenches hard, and a curl passes through her whole body, from her spine down to her toes. It's incredible how she coils up so tight before utterly unwinding. Yukari withdraws her hand slowly, wondering what she's supposed to do about the wetness coating it.

When Mitsuru's trembling arms embrace her and pull her so close that there isn't even air between them, she decides that it doesn't matter. Most of the slick wipes off against the sheet as she wraps her arms beneath Mitsuru's back. Their lips meet at lazy angles.

"You were right," Mitsuru murmurs at length. "That wasn't so complicated."

Yukari laughs. "Well, we figured each other out, right? Anything else has got to be easy compared to that."

"I don't know that we'll ever figure each other out entirely. Of course, it would be boring if we did, wouldn't it?"

Without waiting for an answer, Mitsuru tucks her legs around Yukari and rolls sharply, flipping them over. Yukari lets out a small, surprised squeak as her back hits the mattress. The feathery touch of long hair on her skin makes her shiver.

Her heart races faster as Mitsuru kisses her collarbone. "A surprise attack, huh?"

Mitsuru angles up to nip her ear. "Mmm-hmm. But you can let your guard down for this one."

Yukari's laugh shudders out as Mitsuru's hands sweep around her breasts. She's never felt explored like this before: fingertips press gently into her flesh, the backs of fingernails skim over her nipples, lips sample her like an unfamiliar fruit. Her thighs rub together as Mitsuru kisses the hollow of her throat while rolling a nipple between two fingers.

A moan breaks in her throat when the rolling progresses to a pinch. "Ah, not so hard!"

"Sorry. You must be more sensitive than I am." Mitsuru's tongue paints a soft apology over the area. The other breast gets only teasing pressure, gentle thumbstrokes over the areola.

"Mmm. Better." Yukari strokes Mitsuru's back approvingly, then works on tugging her pants down. She can't believe they've stayed on this long. Mitsuru's hands join in, and after a little fumbling, Yukari is finally naked. The niceness of her underwear ends up being completely irrelevant, as they slide right off with her pants. 

The last of Yukari's trepidation melts away as she watches Mitsuru's expression; there's no trace of disappointment or regret, only dark-eyed desire and something almost like gratitude. Her mouth returns to Yukari's breasts as her fingertips travel everywhere, over ribs and hips and backside, down thighs and back up again.

Masturbation for Yukari has always been to-the-point. Now Mitsuru is finding spots that she never even thought might feel good, and all her flesh is electric. Her murmured monologue of approval has shifted mostly to demands by the time Mitsuru finally wanders to the throbbing source of her heat. She's half-surprised steam doesn't rise when Mitsuru's thumb parts her labia.

It's nothing like touching herself; every movement is intense and unexpected and just a little bit frustrating. Yukari wiggles her hips in an effort to get Mitsuru's fingers where she needs them.

Her wet nipple is suddenly cold and exposed. She starts to protest, but then Mitsuru's mouth flutters down her torso, following the seam of her belly except to circle around her navel, and Yukari decides that she can manages her breast with her own hand. When Mitsuru moves lower still, breathing over her dense curls, Yukari squirms and says, "Um, you don't have to—"

"Isn't that the point?" Mitsuru licks a slow, broad path along the side of Yukari's hood, and Yukari can't imagine why she was about to object.

Nothing like her own fingers, or any fingers at all—it's all wet heat and dizzying flexibility, wide strokes and stiff laps. Yukari's knees rise and spread apart as her heels dig into her mattress. When Mitsuru's mouth narrows its focus to Yukari's clit, one of her fingers slips inside, and Yukari is so close to the edge that she's almost crying. "Ah, Sen—Mitsuru, go a little a more to the left—no, no, my left—that's too far—there! There!"

When she comes back down, whole body quivering, she feels like all the tension has been wrung out of her. Mitsuru's arms are warm and reassuring around her sinking thighs. Breathing hard, she reaches down to curl her fingers through Mitsuru's hair. 

"I wanna do that to you," she says once she has her voice back.

Mitsuru raises her head, and the moonlight gleams slickly from her face. "It's wetter than you're probably expecting."

"Ha, this has _already_ been way wetter than I was expecting. I can't say I mind too much." Yukari's arms feel less wobbly, so she uses them to push herself up. "I mean, it's okay if you don't want to, but don't say no to be polite, okay?"

"I didn't say no." Smiling, Mitsuru sits up and wipes her mouth on her hand. It's obvious now, especially with the moonlight falling over her, that what she did to Yukari left her worked up. She lies back, knees apart.

Yukari bends forward and nuzzles Mitsuru's thigh, inhaling deeply. The scent hanging in the air seems to gather and concentrate there, at an intoxicating strength that makes her blood flow faster. She licks a teasing path along the tops of Mitsuru's inner thighs, until the gratifying sound of heavy breathing draws her deeper in.

The taste isn't too far off from the smell—muskier and sharper, but not unpleasant. There's a lot of fluid, too, enough to smear the lower half of Yukari's face every time she adjusts the angle of her exploration. She wonders if this is doing anything for Mitsuru at all; she can't see anything unless she stops and pulls back, and she can't find her way by touch, either, like she could with her hand. She begins to wonder if she's in over her head.

Mitsuru's hand slips under her chin to direct her. "Sorry," Yukari mumbles into a mouthful of labia. "You made it look easy."

"There's no need to apologize." Mitsuru starts to add something else, but it turns into a low moan when Yukari experimentally pushes her tongue inside.

This Yukari can do; she stiffens her tongue and snakes it in and out while bringing her thumb in to work Mitsuru's clit. In a few minutes she's rewarded with a loud orgasm, a wet chin, and a sore jaw. She flops back against the headboard, breathing hard. "Okay, I think we're getting the hang of it."

Mitsuru joins her, flushed and smiling. "I think we did quite well, all things considered."

"Are we done? I don't even know how to tell when we're done."

"When we're 'supposed' to be done doesn't matter to me, but I could use a rest. Will you join me?" Mitsuru pulls the blanket up and scoots closer. 

Yukari snuggles up beside her, resting her head on Mitsuru's chest. She tries to rearrange herself to avoid the damp parts of the bed, but this quickly proves to be a lost cause. She should feel tired, she thinks, especially during the Dark Hour. Sex must be less strenuous than fighting Shadows and summoning Personas. Her new goal is not to think about what sex would be like if Shadows and Personas got involved.

Mitsuru stroking her hair is a welcome distraction. "That feels nice, Senpai," she says, before correcting to "Mitsuru."

"I'll try to braid it for you later, but I can't promise the result will be polished."

Yukari hums. "That's okay. I'm sure I'll like it." She tilts her head up for a kiss and gets one; she can taste them both on it. "I'm glad I came here tonight."

"I'm glad you came, too."

There's a pause before they both start laughing. 

"I suppose I did mean it in both senses," Mitsuru says.

"Yeah, well, I'm glad you came, too." Yukari drapes her arm possessively across Mitsuru's waist. "And I don't think I'm gonna fall asleep anytime soon, so, y'know, if you feel like coming again..."

The green tint drains from the moonlight. The bedside lamp flickers back to life. "It's late," Mitsuru points out.

"Does it matter, though? It's not like we're going to Tartarus first thing in the morning."

"Mmm, good point." Mitsuru nuzzles closer, until her breath warms Yukari's ear. "We should take a bath together."

* * *

_Sometimes you're better off not knowing. As they say, "Ignorance is bliss."_

* * *

She wonders where the year went.

Between archery club, exams, and having a social life, her second year of high school is a blur at her back. Graduation Day's almost here for the seniors, and it'll come for Yukari before she knows it. If she has time to catch her breath during her senior year, she should probably figure out whether she wants to go to college. Right now, trying to think about the future makes her brain feel slippery.

On her way home, she stops at a convenience store to buy two packages of melon bread. When she arrives at the dorm, she finds Minako curled up on the couch, eyes closed, face washed pale by the light of the television. "Wake up, sleepyhead," Yukari says, waving one of the pieces of melon bread under her nose.

It takes a moment for Minako to stir. Her eyebrows draw together as she stares past the melon bread, as if she's working hard to make sense of the waking world.

Yukari sighs and presses the back of her hand to Minako's forehead. No fever—if anything, she's too cold. "I'm guessing we're not still on for karaoke tonight?"

"Sorry." With a rueful croak of a laugh, Minako scooches her shoulders against the armrest of the couch until she's almost sitting up. "I'm really beat. I guess this semester took a lot out of me."

Her voices comes out heavy and halting. Lately Minako seems a little distant, and her eyes are sad even when she smiles. It's not fair that she knows and keeps all Yukari's dark secrets while refusing to tell Yukari what's really wearing her down, but Yukari knows better than anyone not to push. Minako will confide when she's ready. In the meantime, they have melon bread.

"Don't worry about it," Yukari says as she settles in on the sofa. "We can just stay in and listen to CDs or something. I've got a couple new albums I haven't heard all the way through yet."

"I'd like that." Minako smiles wanly and nibbles at her food. "I'll be okay for Graduation Day, though. I promise."

Yukari swallows before replying, "Is it weird that we're even celebrating? It's not like we're the ones graduating this year." For some reason, Minako looks hurt. "But hey, any excuse for a party, right?"

High heels clack down the stairs. "Here comes Ms. President," Yukari mutters, just before Kirijo strides across the lounge, briskly enough that her hair bounces against her back. She might give the couch a brief nod of acknowledgment on her way out; Yukari doesn't see, because Yukari is staring resolutely at her melon bread and hoping that her cheeks aren't pink.

She had another dream about Kirijo last night. It doesn't even make sense; Kirijo is gorgeous and powerful and good at everything she does, but that should be making Yukari jealous, not waking her up squirming in the middle of the night. Junpei is almost certainly an expert on looking people in the eye after imagining them naked, but Yukari can think of several body parts she'd rather lose than ever broach that subject with him.

"Are you okay?" asks Minako, who's never too tired to pay attention.

"Nothing happened!" Yukari has lost the battle against blushing. "It's just, uh, kinda warm in here. I'm gonna grab a drink. You want anything?"

"Nah. Thanks, though." 

Out of habit, she goes all the way up to the third-floor vending machine. Everyone's door is closed; Yamagishi's probably home, but she spends most of her time in her room with her laptop. Funny how you can live with someone for a year and hardly ever run into them. Yukari can't even remember the name of the weird girl whose room shares a wall with Minako's.

The bottle of SoBay hits the bottom of the vending machine and attracts the attention of no one. It's a real shame, Yukari thinks, that everyone in the dorm didn't hang out more this year. Then again, what did anyone expect, mixing together boys, girls, juniors, seniors, and an elementary-schooler? It's not like she came to Port Island to make friends, anyway.

She's not sure where that thought came from, but it slips away like soapsuds in the shower.

When she returns, Minako has fallen asleep again, half-eaten melon bread resting loosely in the curl of her fingers. Yukari takes it from her and gives it a safer home on the coffee table, then takes off her sweater and repurposes it as a blanket. Minako snuggles into it but doesn't wake. 

"You know I'm here for you, right?" Yukari stoops to whisper. "If something's wrong, you can tell me about it."

(Something is wrong.)

* * *

_...at least until I stop running._

* * *

There are three names on the stone: her parents' above and hers below. She said once that she loved sunflowers, so those are what Yukari brought to lay at her grave, with their faces turned up toward the sky. Beside them, Mitsuru sets a photograph of herself standing outside her university dorm room, smiling.

They stand in silence, hand in hand. The sun is warm and the breeze is gentle; today is a beautiful end to April.

"I swear to you," Mitsuru says at length, voice low but strong, "that we will not let it go to waste."

"We'll make you proud," Yukari adds. There's so much more she wants to say—about meeting with her mother and only raising her voice once, about why her faded strap is finally back on her phone—but she still can't say any of it without crying, so she just bows her head and squeezes Mitsuru's hand.

Someday they'll be able to say more to her, but today she's still a raw patch on their hearts. Yukari takes a deep breath and glances sideways at Mitsuru, who catches her gaze and nods. This was the last grave on their list. Fingers entwined, they walk back to the cemetery's entrance, where Mitsuru's motorcycle is waiting.

As Yukari settles in behind her, Mitsuru asks, "What should we do for dinner?"

"Your choice! Whatever you miss eating around here."

"So we have this time to ourselves?"

Yukari nods. "I explained to Aigis that this is sort of a date. She gets it, but we should hang out with her tomorrow. I don't want her to feel left out."

"Of course. Are Yamagishi and Iori available, as well? And Amada?"

"Ken-kun doesn't leave for the breaks, so definitely. Fuuka and Junpei both said they'd be spending most of Golden Week with their families, though."

"I'd be lying if I claimed not to be disappointed, but I'm glad for them." Mitsuru passes a helmet back to Yukari and fastens her own under her chin. The tinted visor hides her eyes. "It's a pity Shinjiro is still limited to one visitor at a time. We'll have to pry Akihiko away tomorrow for a turn."

They'll be visiting another stone by next year's Golden Week, if the doctors are right. Even a miracle can't fix everything. Nothing is ever perfect; nothing is ever easy. Yukari hugs Mitsuru tighter as she replies, "Yeah. Let's figure out a way to smuggle Koro-chan in before you have to leave, okay? That'd make him really happy."

"I have no doubt we're up to the challenge." Mitsuru reaches back to squeeze Yukari's knee before starting the motorcycle's engine. "I hope you don't mind if I'm in the mood for fast food."

"Hey, I've had some of the best emotional outbursts of my life at Wuck." Yukari tugs her chinstrap tight, then wraps her arms back around Mitsuru's waist. "Let's go."


End file.
